


Dish of the Day

by alittlepieceofgundamwing_archivist



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Alternate Universe, Food Sex, Lemon, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Threesome - M/M/M, Yaoi, by FancyFigures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2019-03-19 15:58:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13707780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alittlepieceofgundamwing_archivist/pseuds/alittlepieceofgundamwing_archivist
Summary: by FancyFigures--It's an important night in Trowa's life. He thinks it's to do with his career - his friends will explain that it's something rather more than that!





	Dish of the Day

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Dacia, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [A Little Piece of Gundam Wing](https://fanlore.org/wiki/A_Little_Piece_Of_Gundam_Wing), which closed in 2017. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after July 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [a little piece of gundam wing collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/alittlepieceofgundamwing/profile).

Trowa dragged the chairs out of the back room, and set them around the last table. It was six o'clock, and he was due to open his new restaurant in just over an hour. He was taking stock of the current status; and he could feel depression settling around his heart.   
  
He was short of five place settings, and the temporary waiter hadn't returned from the crockery supplier; the flowers had obviously been forced to bloom because they were already wilting; the delivery of prawns had been promised since dawn today, but had never materialised; and the sous chef was currently lying drunk in a gutter at the other end of town - or so his furious wife had said, when she just rang through.   
  
And this was gala opening night.   
  
Trowa thought that he might weep. Or swear. Or both! And he wasn't the kind of man to give in to either, in usual circumstances.   
  
The phone rang, back in the office, and his whole body started. Someone cancelling? Another crisis with the suppliers? Greenpeace, with the rallying cry that they'd released the prawns back to the wild -?   
  
God forbid it should be Quatre! he thought, rather resentfully. He'd barely heard from his closest friend for several days.   
  
And then he scolded himself, as well. Quatre would be working on the restaurant's business plan, of course! He was a talented young venture capitalist - he'd be talking to investment bankers, and extending that outrageous loan just a few more months; he'd be trying to make Trowa's advance order book look less like a black hole, and more like a herd of diners, champing at the bit. He'd taken time away from his own busy life, to wheedle and cajole, and nurse this project along - and he was doing it all to help Trowa out.   
  
Trowa felt a familiar warmth at the thought of Quatre's care - even if it was only for his bank balance.   
  
Quatre wouldn't have time to call, and massage _my_ ego, would he? Trowa smiled to himself, a little ruefully. That was another thing he rarely gave in to - personal gratification.   
  
But Duo - where was _he_ , then? Master of Ceremonies, Purveyor of Publicity, as Duo styled himself, with that infectious grin! Trowa had known that Duo was a miracle-worker in Advertising and Promotion, but - obviously - there were situations that demanded even more than that. And he doubted that even Duo Maxwell ranked himself above God. His friend was a breath of fresh air, and always enthusiastic - and he'd had great ideas for publicity and posters around town, and leaflet drops, and celebrity guests. However, he'd been more than evasive when Trowa had quizzed him about the advance bookings for tonight.   
  
Trowa grimaced - he'd realised, early on, that his commercial flair was lacking in many areas. But he should never have burdened his friends with his problems - he knew that would soon strain the soundest of friendships.   
  
He looked around the restaurant, and his heart sank.   
  
Most of it looked good - the décor was based on warm harvest golds and autumn copper colours. There were soft, laced curtains at the window, giving a comfortable privacy from outside. The tables were covered in crisply laundered cloth, and the lights were dimmed very gently, so that long, slim shadows crept across the floor, building a pleasant ambience. There were only about ten tables - and a modest bar at the edge of the room. Glasses sparkled on the tables; thick napkins were folded artistically. The flowers were -   
  
Trowa sighed again, at the sight of the flowers. Wondered if he should dash round each table and dead-head some of the more obviously limp blooms. Wondered if there'd be anything left if he did.   
  
And then the crash came from the kitchen, and the stream of cursing in several languages, including English. There was the hiss of boiling liquid spilling on something it shouldn't - the crack of crockery hitting a solid floor, and the splinter and shattering noise that followed.   
  
Trowa only had one soup tureen, which had cost an arm, a leg, and the promise of internal organs; and because he had abandoned all hope of success tonight, he knew without a doubt that _it_ was the victim.   
  
He groaned, grabbing at the vestiges of his usually calm demeanour, and turned to go back into the kitchen.   
  
He suspected that the tureen wasn't going to be the only victim tonight.   
  
*   
  
The first door chime came at 6.45.   
  
"What the hell -?" snapped Trowa. He was on his knees in the kitchen, still mopping up pureed cauliflower from under the cooker. He was wondering whether he had enough asparagus to double up on the starters; whether he could do something creative with prosciutto. His vegetable chefs were still squabbling over whose fuckin' clumsy fingers had dropped the fuckin' soup thing in the first place, and a couple of the guys were brandishing knives in a none-too-culinary manner. Meanwhile, one of the chocolate tortes had been left too near the naked flames, and was gently dripping down the side of the worksurface.   
  
At the sound of the chime, Trowa was up on his feet in seconds, and out through the swing door to the restaurant.   
  
It rocked quietly behind him, with the chefs' swearing blasting in and out of hearing as it did.   
  
There was a single man, standing at the door to the outside world, and just closing it behind him. He wore a smart shirt without tie, and perfectly pressed linen pants. He held an expensive coat in his arms. A little distractedly, he brushed soft, blond hair away from his face and smiled at Trowa's hurried entrance.   
  
"Quatre!" Trowa gasped. Was he pleased to see his friend? Or disappointed it wasn't a guest? Then he groaned to himself, because he knew now that there was no way he was going to be ready for guests tonight! There were three dishes off the already spartan menu; only half the staff he needed; and he had a headache fit to burst his skull open.   
  
What the hell had possessed him, to think he could be a restauranteur and mine cheery host?   
  
"Trowa!" came the warm greeting. Quatre's gaze lingered on the man in front of him a little too long for mere politeness. There was friendship there - and a flicker of excitement, too. And some puzzlement. "There's something in your hair, Trowa, that looks like - cauliflower? Will that be the uniform tonight?"   
  
Trowa scowled, refusing to acknowledge the gentle joke. Why did Quatre Winner always look so damned _good_? Even in the days that they'd been students together, he always looked well-dressed, and well-assured, and just damned _cool_! His family had money, but he was scrupulous that he shared the same arrangements as all his flatmates - he never pulled rank, never showed off, never took the easy, moneyed route to life's successes. His academic achievements had been all his own - his jobs pursued by his own efforts; his promotions earned by damned hard work, and the glorious, charismatic talent that was _Quatre_.   
  
Christ, thought Trowa to himself. Sounds like I've got some kinda crush on the guy! How ridiculous is _that_?   
  
"Tonight is _off_ , Quatre!" he growled. "Cancelled - aborted! Whatever you want to call it! This whole thing is a fucking disaster! Bet you wish you'd never sunk any of your hard-earned money into such a white elephant!"   
  
Quatre looked alarmed; he placed his fine coat over the back of a nearby chair with exaggerated care. He looked as if he were nervous of what to say to an obviously distraught Trowa. "Trowa - sit down. Let's talk about it -"   
  
" - disaster -!"   
  
He walked towards Trowa as if he were approaching a rabid beast with nothing more than an up-ended chair. "Stay calm. It can't be that bad."   
  
"- monumental catastrophe -!"   
  
He reached Trowa - his friend's face was red with fury and frustration, and the suspicion of tears. "Trowa, you're exhausted - you've been working eighteen hour days for weeks now. You should have let me help you tonight -"   
  
Trowa was disgusted with himself! With his weakness - with his shaking hands. With the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach; the bitter taste of failure.   
  
He looked down at Quatre's hand, as it rested on his arm, comfortingly. He didn't do a lot of touching, himself - he thought it was too intimate; too presumptuous. That wasn't to say that he didn't crave it, many times - but he thought it fair that he didn't invite others to touch him, either. But - by God - it felt good, the warmth of Quatre's hand; the gentle strength that he knew ran throughout the man's body. And Quatre seemed more than happy to hold him like that.   
  
Trowa wondered what the hell he was thinking of, burdening his dearest friend with such embarrassment.   
  
Then the door chimed again, and another man entered, but with considerably more noise and activity than the graceful Quatre. A tall man, in tight jeans and a brightly coloured, close-fitting polo shirt. The end of a long braid of chestnut-coloured hair swung round, and licked at the base of his spine, as his leather jacket was slung across a table; a cheerful greeting was shouted out.   
  
"Cool, guys! You got the bubbles on ice? I've got a thirst the size of the Kalahari, and after a day with the zombies that work in catering publications, I've all but lost the will to live!"   
  
"Duo, as well," groaned Trowa. "Duo's here, as well. I should have known it." His vivacious, charming friend; the man whose astronomic marketing career showed that he could sell ice to the Eskimos; the man who wore thrift shop clothes like designer labels; the man whose laugh attracted admiration and attention wherever he went.   
  
Trowa wondered whether the cellar door might still be open, so that he could sink through it without trace. He was a disaster, in the face of his brilliantly successful friends. His humiliation was complete.   
  
*   
  
Trowa sat at one of his own tables, drinking a rather fine wine that he didn't remember ordering for _his_ cellar, and hoping that Quatre would keep his arm round his shoulders for just a little while longer.   
  
And that was a true measure of his complete collapse, wasn't it?   
  
Within seconds of Duo's arrival, the two friends had converged on him, Duo assessing the situation even more quickly than Quatre. Trowa had been swept to a chair, Quatre had reached for a bottle and glasses, and Duo had vanished out into the kitchen. He'd rolled his sleeves up first. Trowa wondered why, because Duo had never been much of a cook.   
  
Quatre had watched the long chestnut braid whipping round behind his friend's back, as he bounded across the room. Trowa had watched Quatre's eyes.   
  
Now that Trowa thought about it, he was pretty sure that Duo and Quatre had something going on between them. They were often out together - dammit, they were often _in_ together, whenever Trowa called either of them! He wouldn't dream of asking anyone about their personal life, but he'd often wondered if they were gay. Wondered especially about Quatre.   
  
For curiosity's sake, he thought. No other reason! It wasn't something that they ever discussed, really. They'd shared a house, for a term or so - they'd studied, and celebrated, and commiserated together. It had been the best time of his life! The other guys had plenty of friends, both boys and girls, though they never seemed to settle with any long-term partners. Sometimes, these friends had stayed the night; but Trowa had never pried about sleeping arrangements. In fact, he'd never dared to ask any of them about their love life; and he had little enough news of his own to offer in exchange. He didn't see that it was anyone's business that he was gay himself. It's not like it was tattooed across his forehead!   
  
He felt unaccountably depressed.   
  
"Trowa, do you feel any better?" asked Quatre, quietly. He moved the vase on the table to one side; a couple of petals fell off. His face was carefully expressionless. "Nice flowers..."   
  
Trowa laughed, shortly. Quatre's hand tightened on his shoulder, and it really was a very pleasant feeling. He knew it couldn't last.   
  
"Haven't you got some place to be, Quatre? Things will be fine here - I'll put a notice on the door. I'll rethink the plan tomorrow - I'll look for some different staff. Or perhaps I'll sub-let the whole damned place to another guy who wants to try his luck, and ask for my job back at the bank -"   
  
"Hush!" said Quatre, quite sharply. "You have a great talent with food, Trowa - a vision; a skill that none of us has! But you can't be all things! Maybe you can't run the whole damned show on your own - maybe you have to allow others to get closer to you. So you let us help with a couple of things, but only when we wheedle and insist. You won't acknowledge that perhaps we want to be more than just investors in the project...!"   
  
Trowa was shaking his head. He'd given up just as much control as he dared - and he hated bothering other people. He suspected his friends were already bored with his plans; they were only humouring him. He also wondered when he'd ever heard Quatre sound angry with him, and realised that this was probably the first time.   
  
"We're here tonight to give you moral support, Trowa. Because we care for you; because we want to share this venture with you, just like you've shared and supported _our_ careers, and _our_ choices! You've always been there, always encouraging, not judgemental; pleased for our successes. We want to do the same for you -"   
  
Trowa was staring at him, with some amazement.   
  
"- but you won't _let_ us, for God's sake!" came Quatre's over-loud voice.   
  
"Moral support..." mumbled Trowa. He stared at Quatre's wide, blue, angry eyes. He saw other things in there, besides the fury. He saw things that he only dreamed about in his most hidden, private moments. He wondered - not for the first time - what he might be capable of, if he ever let those dreams loose.   
  
Who he might offend; whose precious friendship he might lose as a result.   
  
Duo was still in the kitchen - a sudden shout distracted them both. He was yelling; they could hear the loud, strong tones of the voice that they knew so well from the college sports field. Trowa supposed that he must have been using an esoteric form of kitchen language, because after some initial, angry response, the chefs and helpers had been awed into a grudging silence. Duo was shouting about commitment, and efficiency and hard work, and it was all accompanied by a mixture of other words beginning with f* and b*. There were colourful references to dismissal and disciplinary proceedings, and then something imaginatively phrased about dismemberment, which - again - was accompanied by the f* words.   
  
The kitchen door swung open and Duo emerged, beaming broadly.   
  
"That's settled, then!" he announced. He absentmindedly moved a vase on an adjoining table, and one of the flimsy stalks bent, and snapped. "Nice flowers..." he murmured, and then looked back over at Trowa, the wide, violet eyes sparkling with adrenalin and self-satisfaction. And a certain amount of pleasure at seeing his friends together at the table.   
  
"No worries, Trow, with the staff, anyway. They're keen to reconsider their loyalties, y'know? Any food stuff we can salvage is now in the fridge, and the pans are soaking in the sink. Then I sent 'em all home with the threat of death, and the promise of a good bonus if they turn up on time, same evening next month!" He grinned, confidently - Duo Maxwell didn't do self-doubt of any kind.   
  
Trowa rose to his feet, abruptly. The chair rocked behind him. "You've done _what_?" he yelled. "Sent them home? How dare you? What about the guests that may be arriving at any minute?"   
  
Duo looked across at Quatre. "You didn't tell 'im?"   
  
Quatre shrugged. "Did _you_? And it seems like he's not in the mood to listen, Duo."   
  
"Why am I bothering?" said Trowa, to no-one in particular. "It's only my opening night. It's only the beginning - and the end - of my solo career. Only the end of my life savings, and my credit rating, and my hopes for something that I could achieve, and be proud of -"   
  
"No, it's not," said Duo, sharply.   
  
"Not what?"   
  
"Not your opening night."   
  
Trowa just gaped at him. Quatre's arm pulled him firmly back down into his seat.   
  
*   
  
Duo sighed, and pulled up a chair on Trowa's other side.   
  
"OK - so we should have said. I'll apologise up front, before you start with that disappointed, disapproving look you've got down so well. We didn't think the restaurant was gonna be ready for tonight - but we didn't think you'd listen to us."   
  
"Not ready..." muttered Trowa. The words sounded alien. "Not opening night -"   
  
"I changed the date on the posters," said Duo, and grimaced. "Called the press and postponed the advertising -"   
  
"I reissued the invitations," sighed Quatre. He slipped a glance across at Duo, who looked as disconcerted as he did himself. "Reworked the business plan a couple of weeks. I didn't get time to tell the staff, but I was going to let them go early tonight, after they'd rustled up something just for us."   
  
"Just for us..." Trowa still sounded stunned.   
  
"We wanted to help you celebrate, Trowa - we wanted to be with you, but just us." Quatre's voice sounded almost plaintive.   
  
"Yeah," added Duo. He, in contrast, looked belligerent. "Before the hordes arrive - before you become a celebrity chef, and have no time for your friends!"   
  
"I don't appreciate that kind of humour, Duo," Trowa said. His face was tight with pain. He stood up again, glaring down at his apparently cruel friend.   
  
"Shit!" snapped Duo. "It's not a joke!" His chair scraped back; he stood as well, glaring back. "Why are you so damned self-sufficient, Trow? So fucking clever and _smug_? Why don't you let us into your life _properly_?"   
  
Trowa's mouth fell open, in shock. Duo's eyes sparked with anger, and something like fear. Quatre sighed.   
  
"I'll open another bottle, shall I? I brought a dozen with me. Rather glad I did, actually..."   
  
*   
  
They were all looking a little frayed round the edges. Duo was pouring more wine; Quatre had gone looking for something to eat in the kitchen, and returned with a plate of assorted delicacies.   
  
Trowa thought he might get well and truly drunk.   
  
"You're so damned difficult to discuss things with," growled Duo. "I tried to tell you the plan was too tight - the timescale too ambitious. It's not failure, Trow, to plan a project realistically, with time to develop."   
  
"The money's still there," added Quatre. "Another couple of weeks, and we can have all the supplies we need - we can interview additional staff -"   
  
" _Different_ staff!" muttered Duo. He was the one who'd had to disarm the pastry chef.   
  
"There are a couple of celebrities that are very keen to support the opening - some friends of my family," Quatre continued. "There's a lot of interest in you, Trowa - you've made a name for yourself with your newspaper articles on food and catering - and those demonstration lectures you gave last year at the university."   
  
"Christ, the order book's full for the first three months already," grinned Duo. His good humour was quickly being restored, in direct proportion to the smoothness of the wine.   
  
"No it's not!" gasped Trowa. "What do you mean? There are evenings when I have little or no customers at all -"   
  
"No, no," Duo rushed on. "I mean the _real_ order book - the one you asked me to keep! The one I've been promoting my ass off about! Not that you listen to me - you're continually apologising, and insisting it's too much of a bother, and I should get my ass back to my proper job -"   
  
"Shut up, Duo," said Quatre, cheerfully. "You see what our problem is, Trowa? We've been trying to join in this project with you, and you've been keeping us at bay! We care about this restaurant as much as you do - we were thrilled to be asked to invest alongside you. We think we've got a complement of skills between us that are second to none. It's going to be a great success!"   
  
"I - what -?"   
  
"But not this month," sighed Duo. "More wine, anyone?"   
  
*   
  
Trowa had given up trying to understand - he'd just accepted that he didn't have to worry about a dozen angry diners arriving some time tonight, an eviscerated chef in the kitchen, and the bailiffs on the doorstep in the morning.   
  
He was also learning to accept Quatre's arms around him. The comforting hand on his arm had gone; the friendly clutch around his shoulder had been withdrawn; but in their place, was a firm and delicious hug that no-one seemed to find unusual, except for him.   
  
"When did _you_ last eat, Trowa?"   
  
"Huh?"   
  
"You look pale," said Quatre. "You've got another headache." He was very close to Trowa; his chair seemed to have been pulled round. Obviously he was examining Trowa's complexion from a medical point of view. It was ridiculous - but it was rather heartening, too. Trowa couldn't remember the last time anyone had really noticed how he looked; let alone commented on it.   
  
"You take too much on yourself," grunted Duo. He was toying with some soft Italian bread - pulling it apart with his fingers, leaving sticky traces of rosemary on his fingertips. "You're a pig-headed guy; won't accept help. Won't accept friendship."   
  
"Not easily, anyway," smiled Quatre. Trowa felt the breath of his comment against his ear. Everything seemed rather exaggerated tonight. He supposed he might be in shock.   
  
"We like things that come easily, don't we, Quatre?" Duo was grinning. He also seemed rather close to Trowa now. Trowa wondered about personal space issues - but his friends had made enough of a point tonight about his solitariness, that he didn't want to cause a fuss whenever they strayed near.   
  
"Uh-huh," agreed the blond. "Those are the things that we like, indeed." His eyes sparkled. "And we'd like to share them with you, Trowa."   
  
"Share what?" asked Trowa, rather rudely. He had a mouthful of the wine at the time.   
  
Quatre's arms tightened gently around him. It also felt as if Duo had rested a hand at the back of his neck; an unusual place to comfort a friend. Even one facing bankruptcy.   
  
"Got an investment to protect, eh, Quatre?" came the braided man's voice, laced with amusement. Trowa could smell his warm, spicy cologne. Duo always smelt good - he exuded hot, sexy strength. Trowa couldn't think for a minute where _that_ thought had come from!   
  
It must be the wine; he must be more drunk than he thought...   
  
"I don't need protection," he said. His voice sounded rather weak, though.   
  
Quatre just smiled. "Sure, Trowa. Let's eat, though, shall we?"   
  
Trowa was about to protest that there were no staff - that the soup was ruined - that the whole evening had collapsed into disaster and amazement around him -   
  
But his friends ignored him.   
  
"What do we have to tempt us?" murmured Quatre. He ran his eyes over the foods on the plate that he'd brought from the kitchen. Duo was watching him; a lazy smile crept over his face. He leant across Trowa, and his long, slim fingers picked up a spear of asparagus, poached gently in butter. A drop of the warm, pale yellow coating dropped back into the dish with a 'plop'.   
  
Trowa wriggled on his seat; he felt awkward, suddenly. Their bodies were both pressed against him; he could feel the combined heartbeats.   
  
Duo held the asparagus up towards Quatre, as if it were beckoning him. Their eyes met. They both smiled. Duo reached further forward, the food teased at Quatre's mouth.   
  
"Mmm..." said Quatre, in a voice that purred. "My favourite."   
  
Trowa watched the slim, green slice of food slide into Quatre's mouth. He didn't seem to be able to tear his eyes away; Quatre was the only thing he could focus on. The handsome blond man's lips were round and moist around the asparagus; he sucked gently, and the tip slipped in quickly. It was a very messy food item; a generous dribble of melted butter ran down on to his chin.   
  
Trowa couldn't help himself - he reached up a hand to wipe it off.   
  
*   
  
Quatre's skin was soft and warm - Trowa removed his fingers rather reluctantly. The small part of his mind that was still sane was appalled at how familiar he'd been.   
  
But Quatre didn't seem to mind. His soft sigh was one of pleasure. He caught at Trowa's retreating hand, the fingers damp and glistening with the greasy traces of butter. "It's good," he moaned. "You're a brilliant chef, Trowa - you produce the most perfect tastes. I want more!" He gently twisted Trowa's unresisting wrist, and brought the fingers back to his lips; then, lasciviously, he started to lick between the digits, lapping up the warm globules of melted butter that remained there.   
  
Trowa's eyes widened with shock, and his mouth opened to protest. No words came out. The caressing tongue was rough like a cat's; yet smooth like pure, slick muscle. He couldn't believe how exciting it was! His head swam. Quatre smiled, and moved closer to him, and suddenly his breath was hot and gentle against Trowa's cheek. "You should taste it yourself, Trowa," he murmured.   
  
Trowa watched Quatre's soft, nimble fingers wipe the residue from the corners of his perfect mouth, and then those dampened fingertips were reaching for _his_ mouth, and they were pressing firmly in, and his lips were closing around them, instinctively; almost hungrily.   
  
"Suck them, Trow," murmured Quatre. "I want to see you suck them in..."   
  
Trowa was shocked into silence and surrender - the sensations running through his body were something he'd never known before. Christ, he'd never even _imagined_ that a touch could be so erotic! Quatre's fingers were inside his mouth, teasing at the roof, stroking at his tongue; he tugged down Trowa's lower lip, mischievously. And all the while, he was watching Trowa's mouth, gazing at his throat, as the chestnut-haired man suckled on the slender digits; as he licked the last droplets of butter into his mouth, and swallowed.   
  
"Trowa..." sighed Quatre, rolling the words around in the back of his throat, like he was savouring some of the very fine wine. "You are magnificent..." His expression had turned from fascination to greed. He licked quickly at his own lips; at lips that were swollen with something primal, and wet with the remainder of the asparagus.   
  
Trowa gazed back at Quatre's lips. They both seemed fascinated beyond reason by each other's mouth. It'd be laughable, if it weren't so thrilling, thought Trowa. The issue here seemed to be something very much more than spilt butter. The uncomfortable sensation in his lap was beginning to hurt. What the hell was going on?   
  
Not that he ever wanted it to stop.   
  
"I want to kiss you, Trowa," whispered Quatre. "Oh God, yes... Please let me. Please - let me -" His fingers slipped out of Trowa's astonished, pursed mouth, and his lips pressed down there instead. They were still moist with butter, and warm with desire. Trowa shuddered with delight; his skin rippled with sensation. Quatre tasted of asparagus, and wine, and just about everything bright and gorgeous, that was the man himself. Trowa wondered if he were on some other planet, watching some other Trowa Barton, living some other - _better_ \- life...   
  
Quatre's head dipped to the side, to settle in against Trowa's neck; to fit so comfortably against him that he might have been made for it. His tongue probed gently at Trowa's lips; nudged at his teeth. It wanted entry.   
  
Trowa opened his lips, and accepted his dear friend's eager kiss, in all its sensual entirety. The pressure on his mouth was amazing - the probing tongue was thick and bold inside the dark, private cavern of his mouth. His nerves shivered all the way to his toes.   
  
It was the most exciting, most delicious thing he'd ever tasted! He thought he'd probably just died and gone to heaven.   
  
When Quatre's arm came around his neck, pulling him in even closer, and caressing his bared throat, he gave himself up to it.   
  
After all, heaven wasn't for real, was it?   
  
*   
  
It was about this time that Trowa thought Quatre had grown another pair of hands. But then he realised that he was being stupid - they were _Duo's_ hands, of course! Duo's hands, that were sliding up under his untucked, crumpled shirt, and gently massaging the tense muscles of his back.   
  
What the hell -?   
  
It was as if the daydream suddenly shattered.   
  
Trowa jerked back in shock, his lips springing away from Quatre's, leaving the blond man still leaning forward, but ghosting fruitlessly for the mouth he'd been devouring. His face was flushed; his hands still trailed against Trowa's body, where he'd been holding on to him.   
  
Trowa's shout was rather hoarse. "Duo! What are you doing?"   
  
Duo growled, but the sound was sensual, rather than angry. "Just relaxing you, Trow. Don't leap about so much! Dammit, I'm as good as a professional at this, y'know..."   
  
Trowa's head darted back to look at the blond man in front of him, stretched towards him, his mouth almost panting at the loss of its prey. Then he shot a similar look at the braided man now nestled up close to his back, rubbing his warm, strong hands on Trowa's naked flesh...   
  
What did he think he was _doing_ , for God's sake?   
  
"Stop it!" he cried. "Dammit, I - I'm sorry, I didn't think - oh _no_ -!"   
  
Quatre's eyes opened; Duo's hands stilled.   
  
"Forgive me, Quatre!" Trowa was aghast. "I - don't know what got into me!"   
  
"But - _I_ asked to kiss _you_ -" murmured Quatre, an eyebrow raised in surprise. He lifted a finger to his petulant lips; rubbed at the tingling flesh there.   
  
Trowa ignored him. "And Duo - God, I never meant for you to have to touch me like this - I don't need - I mean - you and Quatre - good friends - _too_ good friends -"   
  
"What's he going on about?" asked Duo, looking at Quatre over Trowa's shaking head.   
  
"Hush, Trowa," murmured Quatre. "Don't worry." His pupils were still slightly dilated with excitement. "Kiss me again." He leant forwards again and, to his horror, Trowa felt himself leaning back to meet him.   
  
"Doesn't he like it?" asked Duo, of no-one in particular. He sounded amazed. "We were sure he would!"   
  
Quatre flickered out his rough/smooth tongue, and licked at the edge of Trowa's mouth. "What's the next course, Duo? He tastes so _good_..."   
  
"No!" shouted Trowa, totally mortified. Now they both sprang back, and away from him. Trowa felt the rush of air as Quatre whipped his head away; he felt the sudden chill on his back as Duo's hands withdrew.   
  
"This has gone far enough!" he gasped. "I don't know what kind of joke this is - or perhaps the two of you have some misguided idea of cheering me up! But you'd just better get back to your own domestic bliss, and leave me to sort this whole mess out -"   
  
"Domestic bliss?" said Duo, a look of puzzlement on his face.   
  
"Trowa - it's not what you think," said Quatre. Then he seemed to realise quite how hackneyed that phrase was - his face scrunched with frustration.   
  
"I - but you two are together, aren't you?" said Trowa, despairingly. He did not want to add to the total embarrassment of this whole evening! But what was he to do? "I won't let myself come between you - I won't be the cause of any trouble! I don't need any pity!"   
  
Duo stared at him, like he spoke a foreign language. Quatre looked very flushed.   
  
"I'm so sorry, Trowa," he said, very quietly. He sounded abashed. "I never thought that you wouldn't welcome me - that you wouldn't want me -"   
  
Trowa stared back, stunned. Every thrill in every nerve-ridden inch of his body denied that statement! "Oh no -" he faltered. "That's not the point at all! I - you - you're -"   
  
"See?" crowed Duo. "Oh, Trowa, you are the best! If you could but see the adorable flush on your cheeks when you look at sexy blondie here..." He dragged his chair back up close to Trowa - his hand came back around his shoulders, and Trowa didn't feel strong enough this time to shuck him off. "Perhaps this is something _else_ I needed to explain, and never got round to! I guess we are _together_ , as you say - Quat and I share many of the same interests; we spend most of our leisure time together. And we have a lot of fun -" a smirk crept over his face. "Both in and out of bed! We don't advertise the fact, Trowa - we just enjoy what suits us both; what makes us both happy." He and the blond shared glances - shared satisfied smiles. "But that doesn't mean we don't both want _you_ , too."   
  
Trowa's mouth dropped open. Duo's hand was tight on his shoulder, with the confidence of a firm masseur; the flesh of his palm was warm, and - Trowa despaired of ever thinking sanely again - it was all very sensual.   
  
"Is that a problem, Trow?" Duo murmured in his ear. "Quat and I are together in many ways - but we're not exclusive. We'd like to share a lot more of our life with you - we've always needed you with us. You bring out the best in us, y'know? We've waited a long time, until you found what you wanted to do with your life; until you felt more secure with us. But we've _always_ wanted you. You're a treasured friend to us - and you're also damned sexy! Could you consider that? Being with us?"   
  
Quatre was at his other side - his lips were at his other ear. "It's very important to me, Trowa. Duo and I have a gorgeous time - but it's _you_ I want to care for."   
  
Trowa turned to stare into the big, blue eyes. He saw concern there - he saw a breathless anticipation; he saw desire. He saw his own surrender in the reflection; the admission of his own need and attraction.   
  
"To care for me? For _me_?"   
  
It was Quatre's turn to flush. "Too sappy for you, Trow? You've never liked being too obvious, have you? But you must know how much I like you - how much I respect your friendship. And it's a lot more, besides - though you've never given me the opportunity to tell you so. I want you, Trowa. You're special to me..."   
  
Trowa could barely speak - everything was too much of a shock. But when the lips came back towards him, tentative now, but as rich and tasty as before, he opened his mouth gladly, and returned Quatre's passionate kiss.   
  
He knew for _certain_ that he was in heaven, now!   
  
*   
  
Trowa knew that his head swam with Quatre's kisses; with the touch of the firm lips on his mouth; on his neck, at his throat. He knew that he'd wanted this for a very long time; but that he'd never allowed it to be a possibility beyond his hot, wet, secret dreams. But now Quatre was moaning his name; Quatre had admitted he wanted him; _Quatre_ was sane, and yet this was still happening, here in his very own restaurant!   
  
He had only that swimming head to blame, for his total loss of control over what was happening. And his sinking - delightedly - into the sensations that assaulted him.   
  
His chair was being shifted - it was being moved out from under the table, so that both of the other men could get closer to him.   
  
Even as he felt Quatre's soft, smiling lips on the thin, sensitive skin at the base of his throat, he felt fingers at the buttons of his loose shirt, and the fabric being eased off his shoulders, baring his torso. He didn't think they were Quatre's fingers - Quatre's fingers were tangled in his hair; and they certainly weren't his own fingers, because they were tangling back into Quatre's fine blond hair, and caressing the smooth, strong neck.   
  
He gasped; he arched back in his chair. The hands - which were so obviously Duo's, for they were firm and assertive, like the man himself - ran smoothly across his shoulders, and pressed down over his upper arms. Trowa allowed himself to be distracted, just for the time it took to appreciate the warm, slightly sweaty palms on his skin; to smell the sharp, sandalwood fragrance of Duo's body; to feel the soft caress of his thick, chestnut hair, as the braid swung over his shoulder, and brushed at his exposed nipple.   
  
Trowa knew in his mind that Duo was a good friend; he knew that he was a damned attractive man; he knew that if anyone knew about sensuality, it would be Duo. His body agreed - and his body asked for a damned sight more. His body cried out for the touch of that man's hands, all over him. Trowa had never realised how much he craved it!   
  
"You're so tasty, Trowa," came Duo's throaty murmur. There was an undercurrent of amusement - a thread of pure, sensual pleasure. His fingertips trailed over Trowa's flesh, as he drew away again.   
  
Quatre had also moved away - Trowa felt the loss of his soft mouth most keenly. But then he saw the slim man slide to his knees in front of him, and put his hands on Trowa's thighs, nudging his legs apart.   
  
"Trowa..." murmured Quatre. His voice was like a melody - it rippled through the air around Trowa's strained nerves, and stroked him. "Let me taste _you_ , Trowa."   
  
Trowa realised what he meant, just as the blond man's gentle hand cupped his swelling arousal. He felt his hips jerk up towards the touch, his skin prickling inside the remainder of his clothing - he felt a warm, sweat-damp feeling around his groin. He wondered for a horrified moment if his excitement was going to leak through the thin material of his pants! He shuddered in his seat; he hiccupped, for he was beyond sensible words. Quatre was talking about something he'd barely even _dreamed_ of; and Quatre's voice held a thread of barely suppressed enthusiasm for the whole thing. For _him_!   
  
Duo was back at his side. His shirt had also gone - Trowa hadn't seen him take it off, had he? His lips were moist with something dark and slightly oily.   
  
"I love olives," he smiled, chewing one gently between his teeth. Trowa realised he'd been to find more food; Duo had never been one to inhibit his appetites! "And ravishment does give me the most ravenous appetite! How are you, Trowa? How are you coping? I think we've given you too many surprises tonight, and for that I'm sorry..."   
  
Trowa wondered how Duo thought he could reply. His mouth was drier than he'd ever known it. His breath was held tightly in his chest, as Quatre's slim, elegant fingers lowered the zip of his pants, and folded back the fabric on either side.   
  
Duo laughed, softly. He sat himself down in a chair again, very close to Trowa, and his eyes followed his friend's; they watched the top of the blond head, as Quatre stroked at Trowa's groin; as he lifted his growing arousal out of his boxers; as he sighed with pleasure at the sight. As he dipped his head again, and _licked_ at him -   
  
Trowa groaned loudly. _Very_ loudly.   
  
"A very _perfect_ taste..." murmured Quatre, though the words were a little muffled.   
  
"You - _God_ \- Quatre -" Trowa still couldn't create a sensible sentence. He snapped his head round, shocked, thrilled - and saw Duo still gazing at the two of them. What was going on? Would he ever work it out?   
  
"Duo - what are you -?" Trowa knew that he'd rather have died, than think anyone watched him at such an intimate time - or rather, that's how he _would_ have felt. Back in that time before tonight; the time when he was sane; the time when his best friends had been only that; the time before Quatre and Duo asked to love him...   
  
"I like to watch him," sighed Duo. It was as if he read Trowa's mind - Trowa couldn't help but recall how he so often did that, even from when they were young students together. Everyone thought Quatre was the empathetic one - but Duo had a sharp perspicacity that he all but hid under his lively wit. "You'll not refuse me that, will you, Trowa? It's as good to watch him with you, as it is for myself. Perhaps even more exciting..." he laughed, softly - greedily. "Relax, Trowa - and enjoy!"   
  
He leant back against the table beside them, and reached for the plate of food again, picking up a small stick of satay; tender meat morsels, soaked in a rich, sticky sauce. He put the tip to his mouth; he caught Trowa's barely focussed eyes, and smiled at him, with a look full of mischievous conspiracy. Then his lips clamped over the first nugget of meat, and he tugged it off with his even white teeth. Tendrils of the sweet brown sauce stretched between the stick and his mouth; his tongue slipped out, catching at it, and he licked across his full lips.   
  
Trowa's breath forced out a small panting noise.   
  
"Delicious, Trowa..." Duo growled. "Guess we're all feasting tonight!" Trowa heard the vibration of his friend's rich voice, deep in his chest. His cock twitched in response, and he felt the blond man between his legs laugh softly at the uncontrolled reaction.   
  
"You seem to be managing extremely well with the shock!" Duo smiled. "We always underestimate you, perhaps..."   
  
"Trowa?" Quatre's head lifted for a moment, a thread of saliva still clinging to his lips, the other end still attached to the tip of Trowa's aching, leaking cock. "Is this - Trowa, are you all right with this? With us?"   
  
His eyes pleaded; his eyes devoured Trowa's face, looking for agreement. Trowa gazed back; he flushed. He didn't think he could find coherent words.   
  
So he nodded.   
  
And with a moan of delight, Quatre's skilful mouth surrounded him.   
  
*   
  
Trowa's whole life was concentrated in his lap - his pants hung loosely open at the top of his thighs, and he was gazing at Quatre, who'd just gone down on him.   
  
His whole body thrummed with the amazing joy of it!   
  
Bright blue eyes flashed a smile up at him; soft, pink lips sucked in smooth cheeks; a slim, strong tongue lapped eagerly at the crown of his cock.   
  
He heard the soft rattle of the food plate on the table beside them, as Duo pushed it away. Yes - Duo was still beside him; Duo was humming softly under his breath; Duo's hands were as busy as ever, stroking smoothly, and almost aimlessly, at Trowa's bare chest. He reached a nipple, flipping its sharp, erect bud, and Trowa winced.   
  
Duo smiled. His breath was a little more shallow now.   
  
He lifted one of Trowa's bare arms. Holding it up high, by the wrist, he bent his head, and his tongue lapped softly at the sensitive skin under Trowa's biceps. He nibbled - he bit at the flesh of the armpit, and Trowa groaned.   
  
He realised he was doing a lot of that tonight.   
  
"Trowa..." came the softest murmur from below. Quatre's words rippled again, tight around his thick, aching arousal. He felt the dangerous curling in his groin; the agonising anticipation along his nerves.   
  
"Come for me, Trowa!" gasped Quatre. "I want to drink you - I want to taste you. I'm hungry for you, Trowa..."   
  
His lips began to tighten; Trowa's legs tensed around his talented tormentor. His fingers grasped at handfuls of Quatre's hair; he briefly wondered if he were hurting his friend, but he couldn't have let go if his life depended on it.   
  
Duo had released his arm; he'd finished his satay snack, and was wiping away a drop of the sticky sauce on his lips.   
  
"Thirsty, Trowa?" he murmured. He reached back to the table again, and lifted a glass of the rich red wine that they'd enjoyed earlier. "Quat has the most perfect taste in wine - coupled with, of course, the means to own it! Let me share it with you..."   
  
He sounded calm, but Trowa saw that his chest was heaving. He knew his exuberant friend's reactions well. Duo's eyes were unnaturally bright; he was very excited. Down between Trowa's legs, Quatre gave a petulant, impatient moan.   
  
Duo took a deep mouthful of the wine, and Trowa watched his throat bobbing, fascinated afresh by the smooth, tanned skin there. Then suddenly, Duo was bending his head over him, and his lips pressed down firmly on to Trowa's. Trowa had seconds to acknowledge that Duo's kiss was confident and thrilling; that the firm sensuality of his lips was very different from Quatre's gentle seductiveness; then his own lips opened slightly to accept Duo's persistent tongue. He felt trickles of the warm wine sliding into his mouth. He recognised the smooth, expensive taste from his earlier glasses, but now it was mingled in with the sweetness of Duo's saliva - the provocative taste of his soft laughter, and his panting, and his murmur of pleasure in tasting Trowa in return.   
  
Trowa swallowed the wine; he felt the alcohol buzzing gently through his over-sensitive body. When Duo's wet tongue pressed hungrily after it, reaching into Trowa's mouth, Trowa took it eagerly.   
  
"Ahhh yes..." whispered Duo. "A _very_ perfect taste!"   
  
Quatre murmured something unintelligible; his lips sucked greedily around Trowa, as if he wanted to draw out every drop of the desire that throbbed between his legs.   
  
Trowa sobbed; he cried out. With an uncontrollable shudder of his whole body, he sucked hard on Duo's tongue, as he came in Quatre's mouth - hard, and richly, and _deeply_.   
  
  
*   
  
Trowa was vaguely aware of his friends, their arms around him, settling him more comfortably back in his chair. His limbs were like jelly; his heart had beaten so fiercely that he thought it might have burst out of his chest.   
  
He found it very difficult to focus, but he thought he could see Quatre standing beside the nearby table, pressed gently up against Duo; Duo was peeling his fine shirt up over his shoulders, and off his body. They kissed softly, lips and breath touching, tongues just ghosting hungrily at each other. Trowa sat, nursing his shattered emotions, and admiring the fine bodies in front of him, both of them now stripped to the waist, the muscles flexing as they caressed each other.   
  
"Main course now, Quat..." growled Duo. His eyes ran up and down Quatre's slender torso. His tongue slipped out of his mouth, and licked at lips that were swollen with drink and kissing.   
  
"You're always hungry, Duo," smiled Quatre. His voice was low and rumbling, like a cat's purr. Trowa remembered the sound of that voice, vibrating gently around his throbbing cock.   
  
"Do you blame me?" grinned the braided man. His hands ran down Quatre's sides, pressing possessively against the bare flesh. One hand reached back up to Quatre's mouth, the fingers thrusting, teasingly, into the blond man's mouth. The other hand reached in front, to the fastening of Quatre's smart, fine pants. "Need more, Quat... _want_ more!"   
  
"I - there are no more starters left," said Trowa, aloud. His voice sounded weak, even to himself. "I - I'd thought of something creative with prosciutto -"   
  
The other two were beside him in a heartbeat. Quatre's expression was a mixture of concern and sparkling desire; Duo's looked downright hungry - for Trowa, perhaps, as well as food.   
  
"Hi, Trowa," said the braided man, the laughter in his voice, as ever. "I must say, you look substantially more relaxed now than you did, earlier in the evening..."   
  
"Let's move on from the starters, shall we?" murmured Quatre. Trowa wondered whether the drops still glistening on his lips were from his cum, or saliva from Duo's kisses. "Duo's not the only one who has an appetite now..."   
  
"The prosciutto's gone, anyway," sighed Duo. "I - er - found something creative on my own, I'm afraid!"   
  
A little stunned, Trowa's attention was torn between two very provocative sights. On the one hand, there was the excitement of Quatre crouching at his feet again, pulling his pants and boxers down to his ankles, and peeling them and his boots right off. On the other hand, there was Duo, wrapping the last thin, salty slice of Italian ham around his middle finger, then sucking it mischievously between his plump lips.   
  
"Trowa," he grinned. "Good cut of meat, I must say! You wanna taste it yourself?" His mouth pursed slightly - his eyes fixed on Trowa's mouth. Trowa knew that he wanted to kiss him again. He met Duo's wide, bright eyes, and saw things in there he'd never dreamt of.   
  
Perhaps he had - but never in daylight hours.   
  
It both scared and thrilled him!   
  
"I always wanted to be worthy of you both," he said, the words stumbling slightly. Quatre's hands were soft on his shivering thighs; he was brushing lovingly at a sticky trail of seed, tangled in Trowa's pubic hairs. Trowa was all too aware of the fact that he was now entirely naked. He was also very afraid that every inch of his skin would be blushing. "I wanted to make my own way - to have my own success. You're both so brilliant - so confident -"   
  
"Trowa, that's not how it is," sighed Quatre.   
  
"You're the one we've always admired," said Duo, shaking his head. "You never seem to need the external praise - never seem to be bothered with how others see you. You're so self-contained; so cool -"   
  
"So - scared," Trowa butted in, haltingly. "Scared to be part of things - scared of failure..."   
  
"Hell of a night then, isn't it?" said Duo, softly. "Time to learn a little more about each other than before."   
  
"We don't measure success in salary checks, Trowa," said Quatre. There was a slow, easy smile of affection on his face. "You've always been a success - you've always been more than worthy of _us_. It's whether _we_ measure up to _you_!"   
  
"You have a perfectly balanced view of life, Trowa - you have your own confidence - your own assertiveness." Duo's words were very persuasive. "How often do we come to you with our crises, with our angst?"   
  
"You have a wisdom and an objectivity that we need -" added Quatre.   
  
"You have perfect tastes," growled Duo. "And that's what you are to us..."   
  
"A - perfect taste -?" Trowa's voice was almost a whimper.   
  
Duo smiled, most wickedly. There was no doubt, now, that his hunger was for the man, not his dishes. "So, it seems that you'll be our main course, Trowa!"   
  
*   
  
Duo turned to his blond friend. "Quat - ?"   
  
Quatre suddenly stood upright again, sheltered within the open stretch of Trowa's legs. As Trowa watched, he slid down the zip of his own pants. "Trowa," he hissed. "I want you to take me - I need you, Trowa."   
  
Trowa stared. His dream was coming to life in front of him! He sat on a chair, stark naked, still recovering from the most amazing blowjob of his life, and the gorgeous blond man who wandered through both his sleeping and waking hours, was stripping in front of him!   
  
Quatre dropped his briefs and pants, kicking them away from off his feet. He toed off his soft leather shoes. He was now entirely naked, and appeared to have no embarrassment about it at all. Trowa thought that a moan escaped his parched throat. He'd never thought of himself as a highly sexual man, but his cock was telling him something else. Laid at rest on his thigh, it was throbbing gently; and then _less_ gently. It was swelling with the return of lusty blood; it was determinedly returning to full erection.   
  
Then Duo was at Quatre's side, and he lifted the blond man's naked body up on to the table beside them, very carefully. Briefly, Trowa wondered where the place settings had gone - wondered at the softness of the fine linen cloth against his lover's back. Wondered what the hell was the matter with him, that all he was worrying about were such trivial domestic details!   
  
He watched as Quatre lay back, and wrapped his hands carefully around the sides of the table beneath him, to anchor himself. The cloth creased in silent complaint underneath him - he lifted his legs, knees bent, and placed his feet either side of his body, on the edge of the table.   
  
Trowa gazed at him; at the long, muscled limbs; at the pale, glistening skin. At the thick, jutting cock, rearing out of the dark blond curls at his groin. At the beckoning split of his buttocks, the opening spread eagerly for Trowa's appraisal.   
  
"Touch him, Trowa..." murmured Duo's throaty voice, a hot breath at his ear. "Take him."   
  
"I -" Trowa faltered. He wanted this so much, that he didn't believe it could really happen. "I - don't have anything - I -"   
  
Duo was there again - was the damned man everyone at once? - with a tube in his hands, and a wide smile on his face. His skin was flushed - Trowa couldn't help but notice that the top button of his pants was open, and his cock was swelled and straining under the material. He was the only man with any clothing left on him. His feet were already bare.   
  
"Watch this, then, Trowa - he wriggles in the very best way! And it's all for you, tonight..."   
  
He squeezed a little out of the tube, on to his fingers. Then his hand slid down between Quatre's legs, reaching down under his balls, nudging them gently to the side. The dark pink skin wrinkled, and tightened with anticipation. Quatre's thighs clenched, and his hips thrust gently towards his lover. He did, indeed, wriggle very erotically.   
  
"Duo..." sighed Quatre. "Don't tease me tonight..."   
  
Duo didn't. He put a hand to the table to steady himself, and flexed the wrist of his other hand. Trowa couldn't see under the squashed globes of Quatre's ass, but he knew what was happening. He saw Quatre's back arch up, and heard his sudden gasp, as Duo's fingers thrust into his hole. Duo's hand moved back and forth for a short, sweet while - then he drew away.   
  
He turned his attentions to Trowa himself. The green eyes of his friend were wide and shocked; Duo held them with his own gaze. Then he grasped Trowa's chin, and drew his face to him for another kiss. Trowa tasted the remainder of the wine; the saltiness of the prosciutto. He was more than eager this time - it was all more, deliciously familiar. His eyes closed briefly, and he felt Duo's broad, strong hand, slick with gel, reach down to between his legs, smoothing more lubrication over his fiercely erect cock. It hurt - it thrilled. Trowa was terrified that he might come _now_ , before he'd even entered Quatre!   
  
Then Duo lifted his hands away from his groin, turned him around, and pushed him gently forward; up against the table, and snugly between the bent peaks of Quatre's knees.   
  
Quatre's skin was heated; Trowa felt the throb of his heartbeat inside his chest as he leant over him. He felt the tension of Quatre's thighs against his waist; he felt the strength of the man's muscles as his legs gripped him close.   
  
"Don't wait, Trowa - please don't - take me, Trowa -"   
  
Trowa felt as if he were in a dream; as if he were drugged in some way. But it was the most exciting feeling he'd ever had. He barely felt Duo's encouraging hands at his body, urging him forward; barely felt Quatre's hands reaching up to him, to bring him closer. Quatre's mouth was open, begging for his kiss; Quatre's legs were open, drawing his body in close. His cock was heavy and damp with pre-cum, and it pressed against Quatre's belly. He felt the heat of Quatre's cock, similarly excited, and rubbing against his own stomach; it seemed almost as impatient as the man beneath him.   
  
With a sigh, Trowa guided his cock to Quatre's puckered hole, and pressed almost tentatively against it. Quatre moaned; the entrance seemed to flex open, and Trowa burst on into him.   
  
*   
  
Trowa felt the deep, tight warmth of Quatre's ass, and he thought that he might never breathe normally again.   
  
Quatre appeared to be a vociferous lover, if his cries and complaints tonight were anything to go by. "Trowa - _Goddd_ \- harder, Trowa - deeper - I want it -!"   
  
Duo's voice was in his ear, urging him on. "Take him, Trowa - take him hard! He's a noisy little beggar in bed - he knows what he wants. Let him guide you -"   
  
As Trowa thrust, slowly and steadily, marvelling at the feeling - trying to _savour_ it for as long as possible - he felt the warmth of Duo's body up against his back. He could feel the soft hairs of naked flesh; the throb of an erect arousal, damp with pre-cum, and pressing insistently up against the back of his thighs.   
  
He wondered when Duo had lost his pants. He wondered why he didn't care - why he actually welcomed the sensation of his friend's nude body, caressing and stroking his own. It heightened his excitement, buried deep within Quatre; he felt his body shiver at the anticipation of seeing Duo like this; of feeling his touches.   
  
"Trowa..." came the seductive murmur. "You're so hot - you're *both* so hot... I want you too, Trowa. Will you have me as well, Trowa?"   
  
Trowa gasped - he felt Duo's breath on his neck; a long, limber arm snaked round his waist, holding him securely, even as he rocked into Quatre. He felt Duo's fast heartbeat in the chest behind him. His cock throbbed in response, and he felt Quatre wriggle and moan, impaled underneath.   
  
"Let me take you, Trowa," pleaded Duo. "Let me share you with Quatre. Share _him_ with _you_..." His free hand was eager at Trowa's ass - it moved backwards and forwards with Trowa's thrusting; it caressed the muscles as they clenched and relaxed; it brushed lovingly at the crevice between the buttocks.   
  
Duo's fingers were still cool and slippery with lubricating gel. They teased at Trowa's opening; they slipped the first knuckle of a finger inside him. Trowa gasped; he was tight; he was concentrating on moving in and out of Quatre; he was assaulted by the thrill of it all. But it was a brilliant feeling!   
  
"Trowa -" Quatre was almost wailing. He rocked dangerously on the dining table, one of the legs skittering against the smooth floor. The tablecloth was impossibly creased, and damp with sweat, and looked to be ripping apart underneath his writhing body. "Have him too, Trowa - have Duo! Both of you fuck me -!"   
  
Trowa twisted his head back, to take Duo's gasping mouth on his. It was a taste he was growing desperate for; it was the taste of another lover, and one that he would enjoy learning more about - _much_ more...   
  
Duo moaned in reply, with delight, his finger still inside Trowa, pressing, and loosening, and caressing... And then Trowa tasted something _else_ that was rather more familiar to him!   
  
"Duo!" he gasped, fighting back a laugh. "The chocolate torte - where did you find it -?"   
  
Duo's grin was pressed against his mouth, and the smears of pure chocolate on his tongue were a dead giveaway.   
  
"This is a gourmet evening, Trowa! What would it be without dessert? And while we're talking of dessert -"   
  
The hand that Duo held around Trowa's waist slid away - it reached back behind him, to another table. Then it crept back around the side of Trowa's body, and Trowa watched with amazement as something white, and thick, and glutinous dripped slowly off Duo's fingers, and fell in thick dribbles on to Quatre's chest. They both stared down at the blond man, spread out beneath Trowa, his hips tight against Trowa's groin, responding in kind to every thrust that Trowa made. Quatre yelped at the new sensation.   
  
"Cream -?"   
  
"I always have cream with my dessert," grunted Duo. "You two can lick it up for me, in just - in just - a minute - oh _God_ \- yes - you feel so good -!"   
  
His cock rubbed its wet, hot tip across Trowa's skin, and both men shuddered with delight. Duo was impatient, now; he bent his legs slightly, and Trowa felt his cool fingers back at his buttocks, gripping him none too carefully. Quatre stilled beneath Trowa, his legs still clutching him close, but eager not to disturb Duo's joining them.   
  
Trowa felt the wet, sticky head of Duo's cock pressing at his hole. The stretching fingers had gone - but Trowa felt his muscles still open wide with the mere memory of them.   
  
He looked down at Quatre; the blond had his eyes half closed with his encroaching ecstasy; his skin was flushed, and blotched in the places where Trowa had gripped at him. There were trails of cool, thick cream all over his torso. His lips were plump and moist, with an edge caught up under his white teeth, as he held in his moans of pleasure. His hair was plastered across his forehead with sweat; there were smears of butter still under his chin.   
  
Trowa thought that nothing on earth could look more desirable!   
  
He bent his head down towards Quatre's chest, and licked at the cream. It was cool liquid, in amongst the soft, but warmer hairs of his lover's chest. Quatre's answering laugh was more of a hiccup.   
  
"You are my dream," breathed Trowa.   
  
"Nothing better - " groaned Quatre, struggling with words. He reached up, to grip at Trowa's hips. "A living dream -"   
  
"Make it a damned good _wet_ one!" groaned Duo's voice, behind him; and he pushed steadily into Trowa.   
  
*   
  
Trowa gasped at the sudden invasion - he tried to relax, and adjust to the new feelings of being pinned between the two men. Duo was gasping, and keening quietly. He held Trowa again, round the waist; his other hand stroked at his neck. He wriggled his hips, pushing himself in further until he stood tightly clenched up against Trowa's ass.   
  
"Trowa..." groaned Quatre. "Move, Trowa -!"   
  
And then Trowa grinned. It was such an astonishing, amazing thing! He moved slowly forward into Quatre again - felt the blond cry out. Duo's body moved forward with him - then as he pulled a little way out of Quatre again, he felt himself thrust back on to Duo's cock, the damp dark hairs of the other man's pubic area caressing his tense buttocks.   
  
Duo grunted, and Trowa felt his cock swell inside him. "Christ, Trowa - not long - can't hang on - never felt so good -"   
  
Trowa made the same movement again - and again. He started to build a rhythm - he could feel completion racing on for all of them. He arched his back, twisting his head in Duo's grasp, so that they could meet in an almost aggressive kiss. "You're amazing, Duo," he moaned into the hot, firm mouth. "I never knew it could be like this!"   
  
"God, Trowa, you are one fantastic lover -" gasped Duo. Their combined thrusts, both Duo into Trowa, and then Trowa into Quatre, were slowing - but they were getting deeper and fiercer. "Why the _hell_ I haven't jumped you before now, I can't imagine -!"   
  
Trowa turned back to gaze down at Quatre; his eyes were glazing over, and his limbs were beginning to shake.   
  
"Quatre -" His voice sounded uncertain - a little strangled.   
  
"Let it go, Trowa," gasped the blond. He reached his arms up to grasp Trowa, and hold him to him. "You've given so much more than I ever hoped for - ohhh God! - I want to come with you - touch me -"   
  
Trowa couldn't speak at all - his orgasm was already racing through his veins, and he could feel his cock swelling inside Quatre's ass. He couldn't have stopped himself if it had been a matter of life or death; or the owner of the satellite Catering Channel had arrived at the door with a ten-year contract!   
  
He loosened a hand from Quatre's hip, and wrapped it around the twitching, blood-red cock that was squashed between their heaving bodies. Quatre shouted, once, and then it jerked in Trowa's hand as he came. He gripped at the table, and Trowa felt the slender body shudder underneath him. There was a warm, sticky explosion from his cock, and the cum sprayed liberally over Trowa's belly and groin.   
  
"Trowa!" Quatre cried, almost sobbing with the relief of climax. "Oh my God - my lover -!"   
  
Trowa cried out as well - his hands fell back to Quatre's hips, to anchor himself back on the planet, because his cock was bursting up into his lover's spread body, and his body was losing all sense and concentration.   
  
Behind him, both of Duo's arms slid around his waist and gripped him hard, holding him upright for just one last thrust. With a groan, Duo climaxed as well, his hips slamming tightly against Trowa's shaking ass.   
  
There was nothing but panting breath, and groaning bodies for a few moments. The three bodies remained clutched together, breathing in each other's smell; soaking in each other's sweat; listening to each other's slowing heartbeats.   
  
Then Quatre wriggled on the table, trapped uncomfortably beneath Trowa, and with a soggy, wet, squelching noise, Duo slipped awkwardly out of Trowa's ass. They all broke apart, eyes shining, hearing the sounds of their soft, amazed laughter.   
  
" _Shit_..." groaned Duo, the first to speak, as might have been expected. "The service here just _so_ deserves a good tip!"   
  
*   
  
There are many of Trowa's friends who still ask how the opening finally went - and he's always glad to tell them the official report.   
  
It was successful, of course! There were several celebrities there, who enjoyed a fine and perfectly presented meal. The staff were on astonishingly good behaviour - the restaurant itself had been redecorated in places, with some new furniture and fittings that did nothing but enhance the overall ambience. Everyone commented on the quality of the flowers. The press had come to scorn, but they left full of praise - and a fine red wine.   
  
The three friends were all there, on the night. Together, as they had been, for almost every day of the last month's preparations. In fact, they'd rarely been out of each other's apartments in all that time - there had always been some reason to bring them together, at all hours of the day or night. And everyone agreed that the success of the restaurant was due to a combination of all of their talents.   
  
A measure of Trowa's inspired and adventurous menus, and his relaxed bonhomie - so unlike his previous character, which many had taken as very reserved!   
A measure of Duo's outrageous marketing - he was everywhere, at all times, charming, and teasing, and gently drafting out many a review article, so that the journalist concerned would hardly notice.   
A measure of Quatre's magical prowess with profit and loss - prices were pitched at just the right level; suppliers had agreed to very reasonable contracts; staff had been reorganised to provide affordable support for Trowa at all times.   
  
"And all knives accounted for," grumbled Duo, who remained very cautious of the pastry chef.   
  
The restaurant is booked in advance for many months - although it always closes on Mondays. This tantalises the clientele - it adds to the exclusivity, and keeps up the hunger for tables from the rich and famous.   
  
It's really just an excuse for the three lovers to take their time together; to sit and discuss the week's plans. To consider what has been successful in previous marketing, and what future themes will be. To count the cost of new menus; to admire the profits made to date. They try out new recipes; they consider the popularity of dishes, and suggestions from the guests.   
  
Then Quatre clears the cutlery and crockery from one of the sturdier tables; and Duo fetches a jug of cream from the deserted kitchen.   
  
And then they spend plenty of quality time, savouring their own - and most personal - 'dish of the day'!   
  
End 


End file.
